


as long as you're here, i will live like this

by hanzios



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coffee Shops, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, House Party, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Miller doesn’t know why he’s so compelled to help this handsome stranger who he’d just met two hours ago. Maybe it’s pure charity. Maybe it’s something more. Part of Miller isn’t ready to find out.OR: The Mackson College AU where Jackson gets drunk and Miller lets him crash on his bed.
Relationships: Eric Jackson/Nathan Miller, implied Bellamy Blake/Wells Jaha
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	as long as you're here, i will live like this

**Author's Note:**

> i suddenly felt compelled to write a college au mackson fic in the middle of the night. you're welcome?
> 
> title is from 'twelve feet deep' by the front bottoms

There’s a handsome dude on his porch.

Miller is tipsy as _hell,_ but he can still make out the guy’s stark features – the smooth olive skin, the full plump lips, the big brown eyes framed by thick eyelashes. Miller prides himself for not having a type but _damn,_ if this guy wasn’t how 12-year-old Miller imagined his future boyfriend to be like.

After an eternity, he realizes he’d been staring. He blinks his eyes and asks loudly over the noises of the party, “What did you say?”

Handsome Dude leans his head a bit closer, clutching the strap of his messenger bag. “Did I come at a bad time?”

Miller squints. “Wait. Do I know you?”

“Nathan, right? I’m Jackson,” he gestures to himself. “Clarke told me you needed a tutor and to come here tonight. But I figured…” He looks behind Miller, the entire house bursting with loud music, shouting, and obnoxious neon lights.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Miller’s mushy brain dawns at the realization. He remembers complaining to Clarke about his impossible workload, and she had sarcastically told him she’d get him a tutor. Or so he _thought_ it was sarcastic.

Dammit.

“I should go,” Jackson says after a period of silence.

“No, _don’t_ ,” Miller quickly interjects. He puts on a warm smile. “You’re already here. Come and join in on the fun.”

The man looks nervous, peeking into the scene behind Miller yet again. He swallows. “I’m not really–“

“ _Come on, Jackson,”_ Miller moves to Jackson’s side, gently shoving him inside. “Frat parties are a college staple.” When they enter, he closes the door with his foot. His hands remain on Jackson’s shoulder as he helps him wade through the crowd. “We got drinks in the kitchen, a game of beer pong out in the living room, and some people having sex… wherever they can,” He yells through the noise.

“ _What’d you say?”_

They reach the kitchen, the island littered with red solo cups and opened bottles of various alcohol. A couple is making out with the girl on the counter, unaware of the world around them. Miller pours some random blue beverage on a clean cup and hands it to Jackson, his mouth moving close to his ear.

“ _I said, drink up!”_ He pulls away as Jackson takes the cup. Miller can’t help but watch in anticipation as the man downs the drink, his eyes focusing on Jackson’s Adam’s apple bobbing. He licks his lips before encouraging, “Alright! That’s it!”

Jackson pulls a face after he finishes, making Miller laugh.

“I didn’t think this is how my night would go,” Jackson says over the noise, face close to Miller’s. From their short distance, Miller could smell the mixture of Gatorade, soda, and whiskey in the guy’s breath.

Before Miller could respond, there’s a hand gripping his shoulder. Bellamy turns him around, shouting, “Beer pong! You and me, _now!”_

Miller grins at that. “Wells not good enough for you?”

“He’s talented in other departments,” Bellamy winks. “Beer pong… not so much.”

“Alright, man, TMI,” Miller laughs. “I’ll be right behind you!”

Bellamy gives him a pointed look before walking away, effortlessly maneuvering through the crowd with his height and build. When Miller turns, though, Jackson is nowhere to be found. He mentally curses himself; the guy probably bolted out of the party when Miller wasn’t looking. However, he isn’t given a chance to think about it further because before he knows it, Murphy and Jasper have locked him in their arms, shoving him in the direction of the living room.

+

Pros of winning a beer pong tournament: winning.

Cons of winning a beer pong tournament: not getting drunk off your ass.

Monty and Jasper were good, but they certainly weren’t as good as Miller. When Monty continued to down five consecutive cups of beer, it was basically game over for them. Everyone in the house knows nobody does beer pong better than Team Millamy.

After their well-deserved victory, Miller’s bladder starts to fill up. His brain fuzzy and still a bit disoriented, Miller climbs up the stairs with extreme difficulty. He’s lucky he makes it to the top, hands flat on the walls for support.

Miller finally reaches the bathroom door and turns the knob.

To his surprise, he finds a tall figure asleep in the bathtub. It’s even a bigger surprise when he realizes who it is.

“Jackson?” He walks over to the man.

Jackson’s knees are propped up, his arms hugging his bag like a pillow. His head leans back on the tiles behind him, eyes shut. He looks peaceful in this position. Beautiful, even. Miller tears his eyes away from his face for a second to find an empty bottle of beer discarded at Jackson’s shoes.

Miller sighs, putting a hand on the man, shaking him. “Hey. Hey, Jackson, wake up.”

Slowly, Jackson’s eyes start to flutter open. Through half-lidded eyes, he turns to look at Miller, a confused expression on his face. “Where am I?” He rubs a hand on the back of his head.

“You’re in a bathtub,” Miller says, allowing the amusement to seep into his voice. “I thought you left.”

“Clarke found me,” he explains, his face still dazed. “Sorry I disappeared on you.”

Miller smiles slyly, nodding. “It’s fine. If you wanna sleep so bad, you can crash on my bed. Just let me pee first.”

He’s definitely tipsy, alright, losing any and all social inhibitions. Sober Miller wouldn’t offer _that_ to anyone, nor would he start unzipping his pants after turning to the direction of the toilet, peeing with a complete stranger sitting in the bathtub. When he’s done flushing, he washes his hands and turns to Jackson, who has already fallen asleep again.

With a fond smile, he wakes him up once more.

“Come on. You’re gonna hurt your back in there.” Miller moves to hold Jackson’s sides, draping his arm over his shoulder. He’s lucky he’s an athlete, easily carrying the half-awake man all across the hallways and into his bedroom in the far corner.

Jackson practically collapses in Miller’s unmade bed, his feet hanging over the sides. Miller laughs at the sight of him.

“I haven’t had a guy in my bed in a long time,” he says light-heartedly, moving to remove the shoes from Jackson’s feet.

He lifts his head to look at Miller. “What do you mean?”

“My boyfriend broke up with me a month ago,” Miller explains. It surprises him how easily he says it and how the same hurt it previously brought is now gone. He sets aside Jackson’s shoes and moves his legs so that he’s lying fully on the bed. “I don’t sleep around, too, so…”

“You’re gay?”

“Yeah.” Miller doesn’t hesitate to tell people about his sexuality when asked. He spent a lot of time in the past hiding who he is, and he’s finally had enough of that secrecy. Being an openly gay football player definitely has its challenges, but he’s not afraid of it. Hell, he’ll absolutely slam a homophobe if he has to.

“Oh,” Jackson just says. There’s a silence between them as Miller starts moving towards the door. He thinks Jackson has already fallen asleep when he speaks up again, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

With a hand on the doorknob, Miller turns around to look at Jackson, staring at him with honest eyes across the room. He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

It’s the truth. Miller doesn’t know why he’s so compelled to help this handsome stranger who he’d just met two hours ago. Maybe it’s pure charity. Maybe it’s something more. Part of Miller isn’t ready to find out.  
  
“Goodnight, Jackson,” Miller smiles before walking out the door.

+

Jackson’s head is throbbing when he comes to consciousness.

He blinks his eyes in confusion, vision blurry. His entire body aches, and even simply breathing feels nauseating. As soon as he’s mostly awake, Jackson finally realizes he’s on a bed, the mattress below him soft and comforting. Funny. He doesn’t remember going back to his dorm.

When he turns, there’s a body next to him. Jackson’s eyes widen, momentarily forgetting about his hangover migraine. The man’s back is turned to him; shoulders muscled underneath the tank top.

Jackson gulps. _Oh no._ Did he just have drunken sex with a random stranger at a goddamn frat party?

Slowly, he pushes himself into a sitting position, careful not to wake up the mystery man beside him. He looks around and briefly notes the football posters and trophies on the wall. There is a blinding light coming from the window, making Jackson’s head hurt even more.

He stands up and walks to the other side of the room, drawing the curtains.

“Good morning.” A sleepy voice from behind makes Jackson jump.

He turns around and realizes who it was. _Nathan Miller._ Sleeping with someone you’re supposed to _tutor_ is absolutely worse than sleeping with a stranger. Jackson merely watches as Miller lifts his body with his elbow, staring at Jackson with tired, squinting eyes. Briefly, Jackson thinks, as far as hook-ups go, he could definitely do worse.

“I’m sorry, I– did we…?” Jackson stammers out, embarrassed. He isn’t even sure if Miller swings that way, but he can’t help but ask for clarification.

Miller just chuckles, running a hand over his face. God, his muscles look so good exposed like that.

“No, I don’t do that,” Miller explains, making Jackson release a heavy breath of relief. “I found you sleeping in the bathtub, so I took you here.”

Him? Sleeping in the bathtub?

Jackson merely nods despite not remembering, scratching the back of his neck. His cheeks warm up. “Oh. I’m sorry. I should go.” He moves to his side of the bed, finding his shoes on the floor.

Miller groans behind him as he puts on his shoes. “Man, I have the _worst_ hangover.”

Jackson snorts. “Tell me about it.”

“Wanna go grab coffee?”

Jackson pauses tying his laces. He feels his heart beating out of his chest, partially in disbelief as he looks over to Miller, looking gorgeous in his bed, asking _Jackson_ out for coffee. He swallows, turning away. “Yeah. Sure. I, uh, saw a place while I was walking here last night.”

The mattress dips and lifts, Jackson listening to the sound of Miller walking over to him.

“Expresso, yeah. Their pastries are _so good,_ too,” Miller says. He rifles through his closet in front of Jackson, right after discarding his shirt on the ground. Jackson tries not to let his eyes travel through the man’s body – muscled and lean and _definitely_ Jackson’s type.

He turns away before he’s caught staring.

After Miller fishes out a green sweater and a beanie, the both of them head on out. The coffee shop is only two blocks from the frat house, which is a relief since Jackson doesn’t think he could walk further than that. They walk in silence, both too tired and hungover to actually have a conversation. Jackson just focuses on wrapping his arms tight against himself, shivering slightly against the cold air.

Expresso is only partially full when they arrive. It’s a Sunday morning, so most students on campus are most likely too hungover to even stand.

Jackson finds them a seat as Miller orders them coffee. He settles in a booth at the corner with a view of the building next door.

“How much is it?” Jackson asks when Miller arrives.

He just waves a hand, sliding to the seat in front of Jackson. “Don’t worry. It’s on me.”

“No, let me pay,” Jackson insists, opening his bag to fish for his wallet. “I already spent the night on your bed. You’ve done enough.”

Miller raises a brow at that. “You make it sound like we slept together.”

Jackson’s face heats up at that. Despite the suggestive tone, Miller is most likely just messing with him. The guy’s been friendly enough to let Jackson stay over _and_ invite him for coffee; surely, he’s not above flirtatious jokes with another man.

“Just let me pay you. Please?” Jackson sighs, finally grabbing his wallet and turning to Miller.

He just shrugs, conceding. “Alright, whatever you say.”

Right after Jackson pays him for their food, Miller’s name is called. When he arrives at their table, there are also two sandwiches beside their cups of coffee.

“You said everything was $5,” Jackson says as Miller distributes their order.

“You wanted to pay for coffee,” Miller just retorts, taking a bite of his sandwich.

Jackson just sighs; this clearly isn’t an argument he’s about to win. Instead, he says, “Thank you,” before taking a demure sip of his latte. He lets out a moan, welcoming the sweet caffeine with open arms.

“I haven’t gotten _that_ drunk in so long,” Jackson says, setting down his cup.

“Sorry,” Miller says. His eyes hold honesty. “I really shouldn’t have forced you inside.”

Jackson merely shakes his head. “I should thank you, really. I’ve been so stressed these past few months, just studying and working and letting myself go.” He pauses in thought before adding, “Maybe that’s why Clarke told me to go last night.”

“Yeah, you seem like the uptight type. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“What’s your major again?”

“Pre-med biology.”

Miller whistles at that. “ _Ooh._ That makes sense.”

Jackson snorts. He takes a bite of his sandwich, enjoying the lettuce and tomatoes. He swallows his food before asking, “How about you?”

“Criminal justice,” Miller replies. “My dad’s a police captain, so…” He shrugs.

“Do you like it?” Jackson asks before taking a sip of his coffee.

He purses his lips, a hand rubbing at his beanie. “I don’t know. It’s not the worst thing in the world.” Miller frowns. “Dad didn’t force me here or anything. I just… I felt like it’s what I needed to do for my old man, you know?”

Jackson nods solemnly, slightly surprised at the turn of the conversation. “That makes you a good son,” he says. Miller’s eyes twinkle a little at Jackson’s words. “But you need to figure out what’s best for you. That’s what most parents want, I think – for their kids to be happy.”

Miller ponders that for a second, staring at his half-eaten food. When he looks back at Jackson, there’s a sly smile on his face. “You sure you’re not a psych major?”

Jackson laughs. “No, but I _did_ have an Intro to Psych class two years ago.”

Miller joins him in his laughter, and Jackson thinks it’s the most beautiful sound in the world.

+

“ _Damn._ I think I left my phone at your place.”

Jackson is ruffling through his bag as he and Miller exit the coffee shop. There are more people coming in, but it’s still not as busy as the weekdays.

“Maybe you left it on purpose,” Miller suggests.

“Why would I do that?” Jackson asks, confused.

There’s a small smile on Miller’s face that’s difficult for Jackson to read. “Nevermind.”

After checking every crevice of his bag thrice, Jackson looks up at Miller in defeat. “Can I go check your house real quick?”

“Sure.” They’re already walking back in the direction of the house when Miller asks, “You _really_ don’t remember anything from last night?”

“Negative,” Jackson shakes his head. “The last thing I recall is Clarke giving me a bunch of shots and then vomiting in the bathroom. I definitely still had my phone at that point.” He cringes at the memory, already making him a little nauseated.

“Oh.”

The house has come to life when they arrive. It’s still messy as hell, with various liquids and cups and random things littered on the floor, but people have already started to wake up, picking up the trash. Miller greets his friends with a nod before they walk up the stairs.

Jackson checks the bathroom first, to no avail.

Miller leads him to his bedroom, closing the door behind him as Jackson kneels to look under the mattress.

“What’s your plan for today?” Miller asks casually, walking over on the other side of the bed and looking through his bedsheets.

“Sleeping off this headache, I guess,” Jackson replies, moving to the pile of clothes beside Miller’s bedside table. “Though I don’t know how I’m gonna walk to my dorm like this,” he complains mostly to himself. The coffee helped a little, sure, but he still feels like going into a medically-induced coma. He stands up to look under the pillows.

“Stay.”

Jackson stops at that. He doesn’t think he heard that correctly, so he turns to Miller. “What?”

Miller shrugs. “I’m just sleeping in the whole day. Could use some company.”

Jackson’s eyes widen as realization dawns upon him. The reason why Miller let him sleep on his bed last night, why he invited him for coffee, why he kept jokingly flirting with Jackson… it wasn’t so ‘jokingly’ after all. _God,_ he felt like an idiot.

He realizes he’d only been staring at Miller, who was still waiting for an answer.

His chest swells at the soft look Miller gives him. Jackson can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

They remove their shoes before climbing onto the bed. Jackson’s lost phone is long-forgotten; he can’t care less about it when Nathan Miller is opening his arms for Jackson to settle into. He lays his head comfortably on Miller’s chest, a hand draped over his chest. Miller’s hand is rubbing circles on the top of Jackson’s head, soothing him.

Jackson looks up to find Miller staring at him through half-lidded eyes. With a tired smile, Jackson leans forward and captures Miller’s lips in a chaste kiss before resuming his position in the younger man’s arms.

“This is gonna complicate the tutoring part,” Miller says, sounding as if he doesn’t mind it at all.

“Don’t care,” Jackson replies sleepily. Miller’s chest rumbles as he laughs. Jackson only holds onto him tighter, letting the smell of Miller’s sweater fill his nose.


End file.
